


In My Head

by hogwartswitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/pseuds/hogwartswitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a broken man, looking for someone to save him. He finds it on the other side of the radio. Inspired by the song "In My Head" by Anna Nalick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts.
> 
> Thank you to all my lovely friends for encouraging me to keep writing, especially the three N's, J, and H -- you know who you are :)

_Under the weight of your wings_

_You are a god and whatever I want you to be._

_And I wonder if truly you are_

_Nearly as beautiful as I believe._

1.

 

Wake up.

Breakfast.

Work.

Dinner.

Sleep.

 

John's eyes ached as he unlocked the door to his flat and dropped his bag on the floor. The same routine of his day looped through his head as he reminded himself to keep moving forward. He switched a light on, wincing as it flickered a few times before it shone steady, making his head start to throb. John dropped his keys on the hall table and fished his mobile from his pocket. The voicemail icon had been glaring at him all day in an accusatory manner. Sighing, he unlocked the phone and pressed a button before holding the phone to his ear.

 

            _"...Johnny! It's Harry! I haven't heard from you in days, love. You okay? I saw Mike the other day and he said you hadn't been in touch much. Just wanted to check in... see if you needed anything....? It'd do you good to get out, why don't we grab dinner? Call me!"_

John grimaced and pressed the delete button. Dinner with Harry... no. Her forced enthusiasm would just make everything worse. No, he did not want to go out tonight. Or ever. He just wanted to stay in and try to forget the weight that made his shoulders sag.

 

John stood in his hallway, rubbing his sore eyes for a moment, before glancing at the clock. Almost 8 PM. Time for the best part of his day. He walked across the single room of his flat, to his bed, and switched on the radio he kept on his night stand. As the clock ticked the last seconds to 8 PM, a familiar voice filled the room.

 

            _"It's 8 PM and time for the night shift, listeners. It's been a long day for some and for others, the day is just starting. I'll be here to keep you company as the moon rises. You all know the number to call in -- talk to me. Tell me about your day. What did you do? What will you do tomorrow? In the meantime, let's listen to some music...."_

The voice was deep and velvety, like rich, dark chocolate. It filled the room and purred out of the radio, making John instantly forget the fog in his brain.

 

***

 

John discovered the radio station by accident. When he had first come home from Afghanistan, sleep had eluded him every night. He would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, hearing the gunshots and shouts of his old team. On the worst nights, he would see James' face and hear his laughter. The deep ache of longing settled on his chest on these nights and John couldn't hold back his tears. After a string of sleepless weeks, he bought a radio at one of the shops on his street and would switch through the stations at night until something caught his interest. A couple of nights after he bought the radio, he found the station with the voice. It was a station that played a bit of every kind of music -- old, new, it didn't seem to matter to the DJ on the other side of the radio. The man never said his name, but his voice was mesmerizing and made John feel safer than he'd felt in years. The DJ came on every night from 8 PM until 2 AM and would take calls on any subject in between playing music. It was the oddest radio program John had ever heard. One night, the DJ had a passionate discussion about honeybees and the next night it was about the right way to make a cup of tea. Whoever this DJ was, he seemed to know everything. As John listened that first night to this mysterious voice on the radio, he found his thoughts calmed and he drifted off to sleep for the first time in weeks. Since then, he listened faithfully every night and slept most nights, though the nightmares still occasionally came during the night.

 

Tonight, John puttered around his kitchen area while listening to the first block of songs, assembling a dinner he didn't really want. He was never hungry anymore, but he had promised his sister, Harry, that he'd try to take care of himself. He often wondered how long he could keep going this way -- plodding through his days at the clinic, forcing himself to eat and drink and talk to people. But feeling no joy in life whatsoever. The dark days of his past clung to his back and loomed over him like a vulture, waiting for a feast. John knew of a way out -- had planned a way out. The army-issued pistol in his desk drawer was there. He shouldn't even have the gun, but the bombing of their unit had left things in chaos and no one ever collected the gun from him. John had thought of turning it in, anyway, but knew one thing: if things never got better, the gun would end things, let him see James again. So he kept the gun and no one said anything; it was his back-up plan.

 

James would have hated the plan. He would have screamed and thrown things. He would have been hurt that John would ever think of killing himself.

 

But James was no longer here. Which was why John thought of the back-up plan.

 

\----INTERLUDE----

 

The music swirled around him as Sherlock Holmes scowled and re-arranged the queue for his next set of music. He should focus on his show, but his mind is full of the last conversation -- no, argument -- he had with Victor. _Emotionally unavailable? What does that even mean?_ They'd been dating for over a decade and Victor knew the way Sherlock was. "I've changed and you haven't." he'd said.

 

 _Why should I change?_ Sherlock thought. _I'm happy with who I am._

 

Only he wasn't now that Victor had left and taken all of his things and moved out of their flat.

 

"Don't call, Sherlock." He'd said. "I just don't think we can fix this."

 

 _Because we weren't broken._ Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and tried to silence those thoughts. Obviously things hadn't been perfect in a long time. Maybe not ever. _It's better this way, anyway. Alone is better. Protects me._

 

"I've got all your calls queued up, Sherlock." Molly Hooper, his assistant, poked her head into his studio and handed him a list. "Here's a write-up of what to expect."

 

"Thanks, Molly." Sherlock said, grateful for the interruption.

 

"Hey, The crew and I are going to stop by that all-night club tonight and have drinks. Come with us?"

 

 _Alone protects me._ Sherlock paused briefly, then shook his head. "Not tonight, Molly."

 

"Right... no worries." Molly smiled and headed down the hallway.

 

Sherlock had been a little concerned that Molly would develop a crush on him after they'd first met. But Molly Hooper was smart and had figured out Sherlock faster than Sherlock had figured himself out when he was younger. Now she just desperately wanted to be friends. _I don't need friends. I'm not lonely._

 

Sherlock forced himself to focus and reached for his microphone switch.

 

\---END INTERLUDE---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn a little backstory...and John gets a little more desperate.

_In my head,_

_Your voice,_

_You've got all that I need,_

_And this make believe will get me through,_

_Another lonely night._

 

2.

 

_"When we get home, I want to take you on a road trip. I don't know where... but just imagine, long drives,  sunny days. Wouldn't it be great?"_

_  
"People would talk, though...if we were together when we got home?"_

_"I don't care, John. I really don't. Why do you care so much?"_

John gasps and sits up in bed, James' voice still echoing in his head. He can almost hear the gunshots and explosions that came shortly after that conversation. Can smell the burning... no, he doesn't want to think about that. His old gunshot wound is throbbing in his shoulder and he bites back an expletive as he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. No more sleep tonight. The radio beside him is playing soft music -- it was past 2 AM. No DJ to help calm him. Just the ghost of James Sholto to keep him company.

 

John bit back another curse and squeezed his eyes shut, willing James face to not immediately pop into his mind. How much longer until he was no longer haunted by his old friend and colleague? When he had first met James, the attraction was instant, but John had resisted. _I'm not gay._ he thought. _This shouldn't be happening._ He'd had girlfriends, serious girlfriends! But James' energy and spark of life had drawn him in until he couldn't resist any longer. They met in secret as they couldn't comfortably be together while both enlisted in the army. James would always talk about what they would do after they went home. John had always known that sort of thing wouldn't work. What would he tell his friends? His family? Maybe his sister wouldn't care since she had a girlfriend, but.... _People will talk._

 

_Why did I care so much?_

 

All the what ifs were destroyed that night when their unit was attacked. John can still see James' face, half burnt, as he struggled to take his last breaths.

 

_If only...._

 

John covered his mouth and let silent tears. And once again, his thoughts turned to the pistol in his desk drawer.

 

_We could be together, forever._

 

***

 

"Hey, mate! Dinner?"

 

John glanced up from the charts he was working and saw Mike standing at the door. "Oh...er... hi, Mike. No. Not tonight."

 

"You sure? All work and no play, you know?"

"Heh. Yeah, I know. Maybe another time?"

 

"Yeah. 'Course." Mike stood at the door a few moments longer, looking concerned. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine. Just... nose to the grindstone, right?" John forced himself to smile and hoped it would be enough to make Mike leave.

 

"Sure...sure. Well, don't work too hard. See you tomorrow?"

 

"See you." John breathed a deep sigh when Mike finally strode down the hallway. He and Mike had known each other for years and the slightly rotund man was always cheerful and kind. But John didn't have the energy to be social after his night of tossing and turning. It had been the wee hours of the morning before he could close his eyes and not see James' face or hear his voice in his head.

 

John finished the last of his charts and signed out for the evening. He had just enough time to bike home and catch his radio show. He hoped it would help him calm down better than it had the night before. The air outside was brisk -- Autumn was around the corner -- and clouds heavy with rain hovered ominously above the buildings, leaving the world a washed-out grey. _It looks like I feel._ John thought.

 

A few drops of rain fell just as John arrived home and let himself into his flat. The voicemail icon on his mobile told him he had another message, but he didn't want listen to Harry's voice again. She would probably show up sometime this weekend if he didn't call back soon, but John dropped his mobile on the hall stand with his keys and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

 

Outside the rain fell in earnest, filling the flat with soft, white noise. John switched on the radio as he waited for the kettle to boil.

 

            _"Hello, listeners. What a storm -- can you hear it? The rain washes away all the dirt and grime of London. What a pity it can't wash away our troubles, eh? I'm feeling maudlin tonight, so here's a set of sad songs. You know the number, so call in and keep me company."_

The DJ sounded tired -- or sad? John wondered what could make that beautiful voice sound so worn down. Did he find life as grey and dingy as John did?

 

John glanced over to his mobile on the hall table. He memorized the phone number the DJ gave out every evening. His mobile lay on the table, reproachfully silent. _No one's interested in my problems._ John thought. _Nothing happens to me._

 

But the DJ didn't care what people wanted to talk about. John had listened to conversations about food, movies, current events, and so many more subjects. The DJ just liked to listen and talk.

 

John strode over to his mobile and picked it up, his tea forgotten for the moment. He unlocked the phone and entered the first few digits.

 

_Am I really doing this?_

 

Before he could stop himself,  John had entered the number and hit send. Lifting the mobile to his ear, he could hear the number ringing through.

 

\---INTERLUDE---

 

Molly Hooper put the young woman on hold who wanted to talk to Sherlock about rock concerts and made a note on the list of callers in the queue. She looked at Sherlock through the glass partition of his studio. A heavy scowl marred the porcelain beauty of his face, wrinkling his brow, and successfully scaring off anyone who didn't know how to handle his dark moods. Molly didn't know why Sherlock had been in such a bad mood the last few days, but she didn't let it scare her.

 

At one point in her life, Molly would have given anything to have Sherlock Holmes fall in love with her. The man was beauty personified. But she had figured out that he had zero interest in women and only a passing interest in some men. She hadn't seen Victor lately, but he'd seemed nice enough the few times they'd met when Victor visited Sherlock. He was tall and lanky, like Sherlock, with mocha-colored skin and a bright, friendly smile. That was as far as her knowledge went when it came to Victor. Sherlock was close-mouthed about his personal life, which amused Molly because he made a living talking about everything under the sun. She got over her disappointment about Sherlock's sexuality, but wished he'd let her in as a friend. He looked sad sometimes, when no one else was looking, and he looked like he was losing weight.

 

Molly wished she could talk to her boyfriend about how much she worried about Sherlock, but she and Greg had only been dating a month. It was going well -- they'd been introduced through a mutual friend and Greg was funny and athletic. Molly didn't want to do anything to ruin their chances and she knew that talking about her very attractive boss probably wouldn't sit well with Greg. Maybe she could arrange a double date with Sherlock and Victor. She pulled a face as she imagined Sherlock sulking through dinner and Greg fidgeting while she tried to make awkward conversation. Maybe not a double date.

 

She checked the time and realized the music would be ending soon and Sherlock would want the list of callers. The topic list tonight was a little dull. Maybe one more caller....

 

"Hi, this is 221 FM, Baker Street Station, and I'm Molly. Who's calling?"

 

"....Uh... my name is John...."

 

\---END INTERLUDE---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I confess I don't know a thing about radio broadcasting. So please suspend your disbelief and just assume that there would be a 221 FM station in London.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John takes a risk and has an awkward conversation with Sherlock.

_And as I fall away to the sound of my heart to your beat,_

_Melancholy and cool, kind of bitter sweet,_

_Love on repeat,_

_I'm echoing all your philosophies._

3.

 

_My hands are shaking. Why are my hands shaking?_

 

The music playing on the station was his hold music as John waited, sitting on his bed, in the phone queue to talk to the DJ.

 

_What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing??_

 

John is about to hang up when the music stops and the rich, velvet voice of the DJ fills his head.

 

"Hello, caller. What's on your mind tonight?"  


"Uhhh...." John's throat feels as though it's closing up. "I...uh... hi. My name's John."

 

"Hello, John. Is that what's on your mind?" The voice purrs and John can almost see the sarcastic smile behind it.

 

"N-no. I called because...." _Ican'tsayitIcan'tsayitIcan'tsayit..._ "...I wanted to kill myself tonight and... I thought this phone call might keep me from doing it."

 

Silence. Usually the DJ is quick to come back with a sardonic response or a long speech, but this time he's quiet for a moment. John can hear his slight intake of breath before he responds.

 

"And did it work?"

 

John wasn't sure what he expected. Sympathy? Pleas for him not to do it? Neither were the DJ's style. John let out a little laugh and his hands stopped shaking, finally. "Well. I'm still talking, aren't I?"

 

"Why did you want to kill yourself, John?"

 

"It's... complicated."

 

"Most things are. But I'm here to talk and you're the person I'm talking to."

 

John closed his eyes and heard James' laugh in his mind, saw his twinkling eyes. "I was..." His voice cracked and a deep ache spread through his chest. "I was in love."

 

The DJ huffed softly. "Love. Human error."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Love is a human error. It's dangerous and more often than not, hurts more than it helps. I try to avoid it at all cost."

 

"You've never been in love?"  


Another pause where John can only hear the crackles of the phone connection. "I thought perhaps I was, once. But now I believe I was mistaken."

 

"I think it's important, being in love. I was the happiest I'd ever been when I was in love."

 

"But now you're hurting so much you want to kill yourself."

 

"Yes."

 

"That doesn't do much to recommend falling in love. Falling is, after all, rather dangerous. You always have to land sometime."

 

"Has anyone ever told you you're not very good at comforting people?"

 

The DJ's rich laughter bubbled over the line. "You're the one whose phoned a radio station instead of a suicide hotline."

 

"I didn't want that rubbish. It wouldn't help. I just needed someone to talk to and you're...."

 

"I'm what?"

 

"I've listened to you every single night since... well, I've listened a long time. I feel like I know you."

 

John could feel the DJ withdraw, his warm presence no longer seemed close. "You don't know me, though. You don't know who I am. I'm just a voice on the radio."

 

"Well, yeah, but...."

 

"No, I'm not finished. I'm flattered that you enjoy my show, John. But that's just what I do -- I talk on the radio. You don't know the real me, nor will you. I'd suggest that if you are feeling despondent again, you call a therapist or a hotline instead."

 

John heard a sharp click and then the phone was completely silent.  His ears ring with the DJ's last words; his heart thrums rapidly in his chest. He waits for the familiar shadow of depression to fall on his shoulders and overwhelm his mind, but this time it doesn't. John feels something he hasn't felt in an extremely long time.

 

John Watson is excited.

 

\---INTERLUDE---

 

"What was that about?"

 

Sherlock snapped his head up and turned, eyes bright with anger, towards the door where Molly stood.

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

 

"Yeah, you do." Molly crosses her arms. "That caller was reaching out for help and you just cut him off."

 

"The last time I checked, Molly, you weren't a psychologist. Nor am I. I run a radio show and you do what I tell you to."

 

"What you tell me to?!" Molly's eyes grew hot. "Sherlock Holmes, you are the most pompous man I've ever met. Just because I'm your assistant doesn't give you permission to treat me like less of a human. I care about people, Sherlock. You could have pushed that man to take his life!"

 

"I'm not going to take responsibility for someone else's actions, Molly. Don't be ridiculous."

 

"No, why should you? You barely take responsibility for you own!" Molly turned abruptly and stalked down the hallway.

 

Sherlock pressed his hands together and rested them under his chin. His breath hissed in and out, at first jagged, but then smoothed until he found his calm.

 

_What was that about? _Sherlock had never reacted to a caller that way. All because the man -- John -- got a little familiar? _Why?_

 

It was more than that, though. It was because of Victor. It was because of the fight and Victor moving out. _It was because I wanted to get more familiar with John._

Sherlock snapped that part of his mind shut. He didn't get familiar with anyone. He wasn't interested. Emotion was dangerous, therefore he didn't feel emotion. _That's not really true, is it?_

"Shut up." He growled to himself. "Just shut up."

 

His set was coming to an end and Sherlock would only have to close up his show for the night, then he could go home. _To an empty flat without Victor._

 

It didn't matter. He could go home where no one would judge him for who he was and how he chose to deal with people.

 

Sherlock stumbled through closing the show, his usual air of relaxed indifference a little shaky. As he gathered his things to leave, his mobile buzzed in his pocket.

 

"Yes?" His voice clipped, not inviting conversation.

 

"Brother dear, you sounded upset during your show. Is there something I should be concerned about?"

 

"Mycroft." Sherlock ground his teeth. His big brother -- or should he say the Big Brother -- didn't know how to keep his nose out of his business. "I've told you to stop listening to the show if you're going to foist your advice upon me."

 

"I'm just concerned, Sherlock. Mummy and Daddy worry and expect me to keep an eye on you."

 

"I don't need anyone to keep an eye on me, I'm an adult."

 

"We both know that hasn't always been the case, though, has it? You haven't relapsed, have you?"

 

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm fine, Mycroft."

 

"Perhaps you should have that mousey girl screen your calls better, then. So you don't get any that disturb your calm."

 

Sherlock bristled at Mycroft's insult towards Molly. _As if he can talk._ "Don't tell me how to run my life, Mycroft."

 

He hit "end call", then just as quickly turned his mobile off. _That'll drive Mycroft crazy._

 

Sherlock turned out the lines of his studio and locked the doors. The night was damp and Sherlock meandered towards home. Though he had calmed down, he had only one question echoing through his mind: _Who is John?_

\---END INTERLUDE---


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which neither of these two idiots can move on.
> 
> (Apologies for the slight delay -- real life, blah, blah, work, blah, blah, blah.)

 

_I don't wanna be fool-hearted,_

_Baby, I'm out_

_Numbered in my head,_

_My head...._

 

 4.

 

"Thanks for the drinks, mate. See you Monday?" John waved at Mike as he started his walk home.

 

In the week since his encounter with the DJ, John felt like a switch had been flipped in his mind. He was sleeping again. He'd said yes when Mike asked if he wanted to go for drinks after work. James still crept into his thoughts occasionally, but it no longer felt like a knife twisting in his chest. The gun in his desk at home no longer called to him every minute of every day. He was thinking about seeing a therapist like his sister had suggested.

 

He also thought about calling in again every night. The chance to listen to that smoky voice directed at him was tempting. But what would he say? "Thank you for being such a colossal dick"? "You being an arse made me realise James wouldn't have wanted me dead, too"? "Want to go out for dinner"?

 

John shook his head at that last one. _Now I just sound like a demented fan._ He chuckled to himself, hunched deeper into his jacket as the Autumn wind ruffled his hair, and pointed himself in the direction of home.

 

\--- INTERLUDE, PART ONE ---

 

Molly tried to assess the waters as she strode into Sherlock's studio. He had been frightful all week to everyone he met. She was convinced that the scowl marring his porcelain features was now a permanent fixture. Yesterday he had chucked a full cup of tea at Philip, one of the sound engineers. It had taken Molly a full hour to convince Phil not to quit on the spot. _Well, no use prolonging the inevitable._ She thought, and strode through the door.

 

Sherlock glared at her as she handed him a cup of tea and a stack of papers to look over. "Are you wearing new perfume? It's putrescent."

  
Biting back a sigh, Molly pasted a smile on her face. "Aren't we a ray of sunshine? I thought you might like a cup of tea while you worked."

 

Sherlock sipped the tea and his face twisted in disgust. "Not sweet enough."

 

"Thank you, Molly. That was so thoughtful of you." Molly crossed her arms over her chest.

 

"I believe I pay you well to bring me a proper cup of tea."

 

"Just because you sign my paychecks does _not_ give you permission to be rude to me!"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry I insulted your terrible tea."

 

Molly threw up her hands and let out a growl of frustration. Fishing a note out of her pocket, she slapped it on top of the stack of papers she'd brought in. Sherlock eyed the note warily. "What's that?"

 

"That." She spat. "Is John's phone number."

 

Sherlock's eyes fluttered rapidly. "W-who? I don't believe I know--"  
  
"Cut the act, Sherlock. That phone call has made you an absolute monster this entire week. Call the poor man and apologise like a decent human being."

 

Sherlock touched the note, running his long fingers over the number. He swallowed a couple of times, then asked "What makes you think I'm a decent human being?"

 

Molly felt herself soften, as she always did when she managed to get through Sherlock's defenses. "Because I know you are. You can be a very good man when you want to be. And John, whoever he is, deserves an apology."

 

Sherlock continued staring at the number, lost in thought, his hands steepled below his chin. Molly gave him a few moments to reply, but he didn't. "Right. Well, I'll just... let you think it over, then, shall I?"

 

"Hmmm...?" Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Molly knew he would be too deep within his thoughts to carry on conversation for awhile. She tiptoed from his studio and crossed her fingers that she had done the right thing.

 

\---END INTERLUDE, PART ONE---

 

Saturday dawned dreary and cold, but John still woke feeling relaxed. He had made plans to have dinner with his sister --the first time in several months. He hoped that she would see he was feeling better and stop worrying so much. He also hoped that Harry wouldn't drink too much wine at dinner and say horrible things, which is usually what happened.

 

He showered and dressed quickly, mulling over what to do with his morning. On his nightstand, John's mobile buzzed. He unlocked the phone and found a text from an unknown number.

 

_ My assistant says I should apologise to you. SH _

 

John's breath caught in his throat. Surely this was a wrong number? _It can't be...._

 

**_Sorry, who is this?_** He typed a quick response. Moments later the phone buzzed again.

 

_ Did you phone a radio station last week? SH _

 

**_Yes, I did._ **

****

_ I believe I may have upset you with my response. SH _

__

Not a wrong number. John sat down heavily on his bed. **_How did you get my number?_**

****

_ Not a difficult feat. We log anyone who calls into the show. My assistant found your number and passed it along to me. SH _

__

Of course. John felt a little silly at not immediately connecting the dots. **_Don't worry about it, mate. Water under the bridge._**

****

John didn't expect a reply to his message, but seconds later his phone buzzed insistently.

 

_ I was extremely rude. SH _

__

**_You were. Maybe I needed it._ **

****

_ What is that supposed to mean? SH _

__

**_I don't know... but this week I've felt more normal than I have in a long time. I haven't felt... well, I've just been better._ **

****

_ You haven't felt like killing yourself. SH _

__

**_Sure, if you want to put it bluntly._ **

_ I'm being rude again, aren't I? SH _

__

_ I have a hard time discerning whether I'm being rude. SH _

__

John laughed at these last two messages. _Is this guy for real?_

**_How do you come across like you do on the radio if you have a hard time telling if you're being rude?_ **

****

_ How do I come across? SH _

__

He wasn't sure how to answer this text without coming across as a creep. John scrubbed his face with his hand and tried to figure out what he wanted to say.

 

**_You're always interested in people. You listen to them. Like really listen, not just pretend to listen like most people. You figure out their problems and help them. But mostly you just listen._ **

****

_ I'm not interested in people, I'm interested in knowledge. Listening to people's stories gives me knowledge. Usually their problems are so mundane and simple to solve, once I know their story, it doesn't take me very long to see what the right thing to do is. SH _

__

**_Well, not everyone views their problems as simple or mundane. So I guess you've got a talent, whether you realise it or not._ **

****

_ I've offended you again. SH _

__

**_No. No, it's okay. I just don't think I've ever dealt with someone so lacking in people skills._ **

****

_ I don't exactly get out much. SH _

__

**_Then why don't you and I go out and grab a drink sometime?_ **

****

John couldn't believe he'd just sent that text. He wished that he could grab it back from the ether and stop it from being delivered. The phone sat in his hand, now silent. No more messages came through.

 

_What did I just do?_

\--- INTERLUDE, PART TWO ---

 

Sherlock stared as his mobile, wide-eyed, as he read John's last message. _Is he flirting with me?_

He sank back into his chair and combed his fingers through his ebony curls, creating a bird's nest chaos that likely stood up from every angle.

 

_Was I flirting with him? I can't do it. I can't let him in. I have to remember Victor._

 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and remembered the accusatory words Victor flung at him. "Monster!" "Machine!" "Unfeeling bastard!" "Freak!"

 

Every time they had fought -- which was often -- Victor had hurt him with all the words that Sherlock had heard all his life. _Can't let anyone in. Can't let it hurt again._

 

But John hadn't been angry or rude. He and Sherlock were complete strangers, but he had just been complimenting him. _What if this one's different?_

Sherlock grabbed his mobile and switched it off.

 

_I apologised. That's all I meant to do and I did it. I can move on now and forget him._

 

But even as Sherlock thought this, his fingers itched to text John again. To read his words and imagine a man who cared about him; imagine a man who _liked_ him.

 

\---END INTERLUDE, PART TWO---


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock acts like the stubborn 12-year-old that he is.
> 
> Extreme apologies for the length between chapters! No decent excuse like work this time -- I decided, in the days leading up to the Doctor Who premiere, to re-watch the entire series again, so instead of writing, I've been mainlining Doctor Who. I'm surprised a killer robot or scary alien didn't show up in this chapter, considering I've been surrounded by Doctor Who constantly for almost two weeks! Anyway, things are starting to shape up in this chapter -- I hope it helps make up for the delay!

_Under the weight of your wings,_

_Should ever we meet on your side of your stereo,_

_I will pretend I know not of your thoughts,_

_And even the way that they mirror my own,_

_I'll take you away in the way that you take me and go where I go._

 

5.

**_I'm sorry I sent that. I didn't mean it._ **

****

**_I mean, unless you want to get drinks._ **

****

**_But I'm guessing I just came off like a creeper._ **

****

**_So I'm sorry. For that._ **

****

**_I obviously don't get out that much, either._ **

****

**_I've scared you off, haven't I?_ **

****

**_For what it's worth, I was enjoying the conversation._ **

****

**_And I haven't enjoyed much of anything for a long time._ **

****

**_You might not be interested in people, but you help more than you realise._ **

****

**_I don't know if I would have made it through this year without your radio show._ **

****

**_Anyway, I'll stop bothering you. Sorry for the misunderstanding._ **

****

**_\---_ **

****

**_What does SH mean, anyway?_ **

_***_

John was grateful when the weekend was finally over. He welcomed the distraction that work gave him from checking his phone incessantly for new text messages, of which there were precisely zero. He had annoyed Harry throughout their dinner because of his fiddling. For once she hadn't been drinking; she and Claire were back together and it was one of Claire's stipulations. John supposed he owed Harry an apology for being so distracted.

 

_Looks like I'm making a habit of apologising._

A busy Monday at the clinic helped take his mind off of his blunders of the weekend. His day was a blur of sore throats, sprained ankles, and stomach complaints. _And reports_. He thought, as he pecked at the keyboard with his index fingers.

 

"Dr. Watson." A voice broke through his concentration.

 

A tall, thin man of indeterminate age and thinning ginger hair stood at the door of his office. He leaned casually on a slightly damp umbrella and crossed one leg behind the other. He was dressed in a conservatively tailored suit and a look of distaste was etched across his face.

 

"Yes, I'm Dr. Watson. May I help you?"

 

"No, Dr. Watson. I don't believe you can help me at all. In fact, you've become a rather sharp thorn in my side of late." The stranger's voice dripped of sarcasm and loathing.

 

"D-do I know you? If I've done something to upset you, I can assure you, I didn't intend--"

 

"It's not my upset that has caused my woes. Whatever your intentions, you have my brother in quite a bad state and I am ordering you to cease your contact with him."

 

John couldn't withhold the bark of laughter that burst out. " _Order_ me? Look, I don't know who you are, nor do I know anything about your brother, but I can take bloody well care of myself and I imagine your brother can do the same."

 

The man tipped his head back and scrutinised John through narrowed eyes. " You do not know how volatile he is. Emotional situations are never good for him. Just stay out of my brother's affairs, Dr. Watson. That means no texting, nor phoning or listening to his silly, little radio programme, either."

 

Turning on his heel, the stranger left the way he came in, leaving behind a speechless John Watson who was busy putting together the pieces.

 

_Radio....station?_

 

***

 

**_I got a visit from someone interesting today. I think you might have known him._ **

****

**_Claims he's your brother._ **

****

**_Kind of an uptight arse, if you ask me._ **

****

**_He said I should stay away from you. Said you were volatile, whatever that means._ **

****

**_He "ordered" me to stop texting you._ **

****

**_He also told me I should stop listening to your "silly, little radio programme"._ **

****

**_Any comments about that?_ **

****

_ That imbecile called my radio show SILLY?!? _

__

\---INTERLUDE ---

 

"So what do you think? Want to grab a curry tonight and watch telly at your place?"

  
Molly smiled at Greg and nodded. She was growing quite fond of him the more she saw him. "That sounds fun! I get off at---"

 

Her reply was cut off by an angry shout from Sherlock's studio, followed by several small thuds and crashes. "What in the world?" Molly jumped up to go see what was wrong.

 

"Er...perhaps I should talk to you about it later..." Greg stood up, looking worried.

 

Sherlock flung open the studio door. He was wearing his black, billowy coat and a murderous expression marred his smooth features.

 

"I-is something wrong?" Molly squeaked. She was used to Sherlock having a quick temper, but she had never seen him quite this angry.

 

"Silly." Sherlock hissed.

 

"P-ardon me?" Molly wondered if she should call someone to help.

 

"He thinks all this--" Sherlock gestured around him, "is silly? I've spent my life figuring out people, getting them to talk to me, and he thinks it's silly? Oh, if I had a degree and worked as a therapist, that would be something else, but this is _silly_? It's one of the most listened to programmes on the radio!"

 

Sherlock's eyes burned hotly and his voice shook as he finished his tirade. Molly thought her boss looked near tears, which scared her more than she'd like to admit. "What can I do to help? Who called you silly?"

 

"He's never understood me. Never supported the things I do. But he won't get out of my life. Do you hear me, you spying, little rat?" Sherlock shouted this last bit towards the ceiling. "I want you out! Gone! Never to darken my doorway with your ugly face again!"

 

"Look, mate..." Greg stepped forward, having watched Sherlock's outburst with slack jaw and wide eyes. He laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Whatever this is about...."

 

Sherlock whirled around to stare at Greg. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't see him at all, but then he shook his head and his eyes cleared a little. He took a few ragged breaths and ran his fingers through his curls, leaving them in disarray.

 

Molly could see the instant when Sherlock's wall went back up. He straightened his spine and his face went completely calm. "I...apologise. That was very unprofessional."

 

"It's okay, really." Molly tried to catch Sherlock's eye, but he was closed up again, caught in his own whirring thoughts. "Is everything all right? Can I do something for you?"

 

"No!" Sherlock snapped, then caught himself. "I mean... no, thank you, Molly. I think I just need some fresh air. I'm not feeling very well today. Would you air one of those 'best of' specials we have set aside in case of emergency?"

 

"Of course." Molly didn't want her boss to walk out the door in the state he'd been in, but she didn't know how to stop him. She looked at Greg who furrowed his brow and gave a small shrug. "Will you let me know if there's anything else I can do?"

 

By now, Sherlock was deep inside his own thoughts. Molly was used to this, but she hadn't ever seen him behave like he had just before. He gave a soft "Mmmm" and a wave of his hand as he walked, slowly, out the door.

 

Molly sank back into her chair and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Greg. I don't know if I'm going to be in the mood for dinner tonight, after all."

 

"Hey," Greg cupped her chin in his hand as he bent down to her level. "I can see you're worried about him. I know you care about him a lot. I'm not going to leave you alone to deal with it. But I don't think there's anything you can do about it tonight. How about I still bring dinner around and we can just talk?"

 

"Oh, Greg!" Molly covered his hand with hers. "You know just the right thing to say. Yes, let's do that. Thanks for trying to make it better."

 

"I just wish I knew what to suggest for him." Greg nodded his chin towards Sherlock's studio.

  
"So do I." Molly sighed.

 

\---END INTERLUDE ---

 

**_You still there? Was that really your brother?_ **

 

John couldn't figure the DJ out. Did he want to talk, or didn't he? After the one reply, he hadn't heard anything more. He was just finishing up for the day and his thoughts were all over the place, thanks to the visit from the unpleasant man and his texts with the DJ. _So much for a nice, quiet life after the military._

 

Finishing up his reports, John shut down his computer and shrugged into his coat. He waved good bye to Mike and headed outside, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. As he stepped onto the wet pavement, a figure stepped forward.

 

"John Watson?"

 

The man who spoke to him was tall and lean. He wore a long, black coat and that flared out and swirled around his legs. A dark mop of curls fell over eyes that were icy blue and seemed to fix John to the very spot he was standing. A slightly upturned nose, sharp cheekbones, and a bow-shaped mouth pulled together a face that was both attractive and extraordinarily odd-looking. But the voice.... John would know that voice anywhere.

 

"You." John reached out to steady himself against the building. "How did you...?"

 

"Find you? Oh, that's pretty simple, really. I had your name and it's not as though you've gone to great lengths to hide yourself from anyone."

 

"Why are you here?" John felt like the world had turned upside down. He struggled to figure out what he was feeling. "I mean, after those texts, I didn't think you'd want to have anything to do with me."

 

"I'm intrigued by you. I don't like that. It would have all been over if not for my _brother_." The DJ hissed out this last word, his brow wrinkling into a scowl.

 

"So that was your brother? The one who came to see me today?"

 

"Yes. He spends his life trying to find ways of annoying me. Thinks that just because he's older, he's in charge of what I do and say and feel. He _highly_ disapproves of my radio programme."

 

"Thinks it's silly, yeah."

 

The icy blue eyes flashed and for a moment, John thought the DJ looked like a man in an incredible amount of pain."Indeed."

 

"So that still doesn't explain why you're here, now?"  


The DJ's eyes roamed up and down, taking in John in one glance. John had never felt so exposed as he had under that cool gaze. He nervously straightened the hem of his shirt, then flexed his fingers and curled them into a fist to stop the fidgeting.

 

"I enjoy annoying my brother, just as much as he enjoys annoying me." The velvet voice deepened into a purr. "And for some reason, my brother thinks you're dangerous to me."

 

"Why would I be dangerous to you?"

 

"I have no idea. Want have dinner with me and find out?"

 

_This is absolutely insane._ John told himself. _Say no, go home, and keep your life quiet and normal. Don't get involved with this._

 

"Sure, why not?"

 

The bow lips curled up into a Cheshire cat smile and the DJ held out a black-gloved hand. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, by the way."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two broken souls find their happy ending.
> 
> A few notes: a HUGE thank you to everyone who's been reading. This is not only the first fanfic I've written in 15+ years, but also the first one that I've *ever* finished, which is why I chose to keep it on the short side. Perhaps the next one (yes, already working on it!) will be a little longer. The fact that anyone reads this little story makes me absolutely delighted and I appreciate the kudos and all the nice comments.
> 
> Gigantic thanks and tackle-hugs go to my group of friends who keep egging me on to write. You all know who you are -- my life would be boring without you ladies!
> 
> And of course, props to the TV show and the characters who inspire me daily. I couldn't even hope to come close to the brilliance that is Sherlock, but I am so very grateful for the day I joined this fandom.
> 
> Until next time, happy reading!

_Under the weight of your wings,_

_I make believe you are all that I'll ever need,_

_All that I need._

6.

 

Angelo's was in a grotty corner of London. One of those places that you could pass a thousand times and not realise that it was a restaurant, tucked away, unassuming, just there waiting. It was dim inside; a jazz track played quietly in the background, just loud enough to mask any sounds from the kitchen. Despite its nondescript location, a handful of couples were scattered at the tables.

 

"Sherlock!" A burly man with a huge smile stretched across his face approached Sherlock and John, his arms spread wide. "So good to see you! My best table -- for you!"

 

Sherlock smiled languidly at the man and then turned to John. "This is Angelo. Angelo, this is John."

 

"Any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine!" Angelo clasped John's hand. "This man has listened to my problems more times than I care to count and solved them every time!"

 

Angelo led the pair to a table near the front window and seated them. A candle burned lazily, casting interesting shadows across Sherlock's face. He ignored the menu and instead stared intensely at John, a half-smile curving at his lips. "Who are you, John?"

 

John's heart sped up. To have Sherlock's eyes focused only on him with such concentration was unnerving. He licked his lips and traced the edge of a menu with his hand, which trembled slightly. "I...er... well. I'm John Watson, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, Doctor---"

 

"No, not that." Sherlock snapped. "That's what you do. Who _are_ you? Why wouldn't you get out of my head, even before I'd met you?"

 

John was taken aback. "I...don't know? Same reason you wouldn't get out of mine?"

 

"I don't form attachments to people, normally. What makes you -- a stranger -- so different?"

 

John felt as though he were under a microscope. He bit his lip and looked away, trying to compose himself. Taking a deep breath, he began. "A year ago, I came home from Afghanistan completely broken. No, let me talk." He held up a hand to stop Sherlock from interrupting. "I went into the Army thinking I knew who I was -- just a bloke. Just a normal, average bloke. I worked for my good grades and hoped to become a doctor, maybe raise a family. A comfortable life."

 

Sherlock couldn't suppress an eye roll and John smiled. "Boring, I know. I wanted boring. My unit got sent to Afghanistan, though, and... I changed."

 

"What changed you? The war?"

 

"That changed me, of course. It changes everyone. But that wasn't what changed me. Or rather, who changed me. I met someone. My commander...James."

 

John dipped his head down, rapidly blinking to keep tears from falling. His voice caught in his throat for a moment and he breathed raggedly until he could talk again. "I was angry, _so_ angry at first. Angry at myself for being attracted to a man; angry at James for thinking I would be attracted to a man. My sister is gay and... I'm not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but...I'm not."

  
"Not gay doesn't necessarily mean straight, though." Sherlock murmured.

 

John swallowed and nodded. "It took a long time for me to accept that. I would just ignore those feelings in the past. Whenever I found myself looking too long at one of my mates in high school or...the dreams I'd sometimes have. But I couldn't ignore James. James was like the sun shining in my eyes all the time. He was...everything."

 

John's throat burned and he scrubbed at his face, trying to wipe James' smile from his memory. "And then I lost him. There was...an attack. We were caught unprepared. James died."

 

"That's why you wanted to kill yourself?"

 

John nodded, afraid to look at Sherlock.

 

"And now?"

 

"Now...." John braced himself and looked directly into Sherlock's eyes, which managed to look equally like ice chips and flames. "I don't. Or at least I don't all the time. Not anymore."

 

"Why?"

 

John didn't want to say it. He didn't want to put himself out there, only to scare Sherlock away. "When I came home, I was broken. I'd been shot." John patted his shoulder. "The only person to make me feel truly alive was gone. My sister tried to help, but she's got problems of her own and didn't really understand. I couldn't sleep; I was having terrible nightmares. One night, I tried listening to the radio and I heard your voice. Your voice was the only voice that could get through my fog. I don't know why, but it did. And talking to you... when I hear your voice, it's like a beacon through the fog, guiding me home."

 

Sherlock drew back, straightening his spine and narrowing his eyes. John worried that he'd gone too far. "I know it sounds crazy as we've only just met. I _know._ "

 

Sherlock held up a hand. "No. Not crazy." He dragged a slim hand through his already unkempt hair. "Or at least no more crazy than myself. Like I said, I don't form attachments. Or very few, anyway. There was someone I knew from school, until recently. But he's gone now...grown apart from me, according to him. He changed, I didn't."

 

John wondered if he could reach out and grab Sherlock's hand, which was tapping nervously at the table as he spoke of something that so obviously pained him still. "So we've both lost our way recently."

 

Sherlock laughed bitterly. "I've felt lost my whole life. I've never met anyone like me and no one ever seems to know how to deal with me. They usually just say 'piss off' and leave me alone. But you didn't. Not even when I was rude."

 

"I thought about it."

 

"Why didn't you?"

 

"Because you'd already helped me so much. I know you didn't _know_ you were helping me, but you did. Your voice kept me going, when all I wanted to do was stop. And even when you were rude, you were helping. For the last year, everyone I know has treated me like I was a porcelain doll. Any wrong word might shatter me. And maybe that's true -- maybe it would have. But you didn't care and it made me feel like a human being again."

 

"So here we are." Sherlock clasped his hands and tilted his head towards John. "Two absolutely mad people who have just found each other."

 

John laughed, a proper laugh that caught him off guard. "It is mad, isn't it?"

Sherlock's half-smile spread into a real smile, dimples deepening and eyes crinkling at the edges. "Completely. Do you care?"  
  
"Not at all."

 

"Hungry?"

 

"Starving."

 

"Let's eat, then."

 

***

 

They walked aimlessly after dinner, sometimes bumping shoulders, but not caring. And they talked. Of Sherlock's privileged childhood and John's broken one. Of their work and of their interests. They talked of music and food and books. At some point, slim fingers intertwined with work-roughened ones and clasped tightly as they strolled. Sherlock waved his free hand wildly to illustrate his points and John marveled at the fire that could burn behind the cold exterior.

 

"You're brilliant." He said, stopping Sherlock in the middle of the sidewalk.

 

Sherlock swallowed what he was about to say and searched John's face. "You really mean that?"

 

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

  
"No one's ever said anything like that to me and meant it. Not even Victor."

 

John swallowed. "Well. I mean it. I don't say things I don't mean."

 

"Where have you been?" Sherlock whispered.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I've been looking for you my whole life and I didn't even know it... where've you been?"

 

John's face softened, the lines melting away until Sherlock could almost see the boy behind all the years. John pulled Sherlock's hand up to his chest. "Right here. Waiting for you."

 

Without even thinking about how absurd it was that this man he'd known for only a minute could touch him to his very soul, Sherlock leaned forward and cupped the back of John's neck. Before either of them could second guess each other, John met him halfway and their lips touched, hard at first, then softening. Mouths opened and tongues met and John could feel his heart and Sherlock's beating hard and fast. Their edges melted and it felt like they became one person, all tangled limbs and hot, sweaty groping hands. John moaned in the back of his throat and buried his hands in Sherlock's hair, letting the ebony curls wind around his fingers like snakes. He wanted to taste and be tasted and the desire made him dizzy. Sherlock nipped lightly at the corner of John's mouth and a laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. He cupped John's face and withdrew, leaving a cold, empty space where he used to be.

 

"We can't...not out in the street." Sherlock gasped and then laughed, his smile making him look like an eager boy.

 

"You're right!" John laughed along with him. "People might talk."

 

"People do little else."

 

John tried to orient himself. "Err... we could...."

 

"My flat. It's not too far from here. And there's a cab over there." Sherlock pointed. "Unless you don't want...."

 

"No, I do. As long as you do."

 

Sherlock pulled John towards the cab. "Let's go, then... the game is on!"

 

***

 

The cab ride was interminable. They both kept sneaking touches. Sherlock brushed his thigh against John's; John reached up to tweak a curl off Sherlock's forehead. They bit back smiles and stole glances at each other. _We're like a pair of schoolboys._ John thought.

 

Sherlock's flat was cluttered and complicated, just like the man himself. Record albums and books and papers with Sherlock's scribbled drawings and sprawling handwriting were stuffed and scattered upon every surface and in every corner. Sherlock flipped on a lamp and hung his coat on a coat rack near the front door. He turned to face John, who had taken his coat off as well and laid it over a worn out arm-chair covered in dusty red upholstery.

 

"Here we are." Sherlock spread his arms. "Nervous?"

 

John laughed until his eyes twinkled. "Yes! But I don't know why."

 

"Same."

 

Sherlock wasn't John's first. And John wasn't Sherlock's. But this moment felt so much more important and so much _more_. John eased his body towards Sherlock's, tracing his curves and edges with eyes.

 

"Bedroom." Murmured Sherlock. "This way."

 

They kissed their way to the bedroom, shedding shoes and socks, then trousers and shirts down the hallway. John pushed Sherlock onto the bed, then fell after him. His kisses were hot and desperate and he wanted to touch Sherlock everywhere at the same time. Sherlock kissed back just as desperately, tugging at John's short hair and curving his body to fit them together like a puzzle piece. John was hard and he could feel Sherlock was, too. He struggled out of his briefs and guided Sherlock's hand to him, wrapping those slim fingers around his length.

 

"Yes." He hissed. "Yes, yes, yes."

 

Sherlock smiled against John's skin as he kissed his way across the scar on John's shoulder and stroked him. His underwear had joined John's on the floor and their bodies pressed against each other. John trailed kisses down Sherlock's alabaster chest, splaying his fingers out against his hard stomach, relishing the feel of his muscles clenching and unclenching. His kisses traveled lower and when he took Sherlock in his mouth, letting his tongue probe and explore every inch, Sherlock gasped out John's name and buried his hands in John's hair.

 

"Let...me..." Sherlock ground between his teeth. "Look at you."

 

John returned to Sherlock's face and kissed him roughly, knowing he tasted of Sherlock. They touched and groped and caressed, exploring every facet of each other's body with hands and face and tongue. John could feel the pleasure building inside him to a crescendo until he soared high above, looking down at their two bodies, intertwined. He cried Sherlock's name as he came and Sherlock wordlessly buried his face into John's chest as he followed. They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sheets and sweat. John laughed between breaths.

 

"That was... amazing."

 

Sherlock rolled onto his back beside him, a Cheshire cat smile of satisfaction on his face. "Mmmm." He purred, too spent for words.

 

John curled himself toward Sherlock and rested his head on his chest. Sherlock stroked John's hair softly and they both listened to each other's breathing. John clasped Sherlock's other hand and brought it to his lips, gently brushing his lips against his knuckles. "Thank you."

 

As the outside world bustled on without them, two broken men made whole again lay curled together and fell asleep.

 

\---INTERLUDE---

 

Mycroft Holmes glared at the e-mail on his computer screen and flipped through a stack of papers, trying to find the information he needed. It was late and his office was dark but for the lamp on his desk. He sipped a cup of tea and thought about how to deal with this latest governmental crisis that had landed in his lap.

 

His assistant, Andrea, tapped on the doorway as she came in, hips swaying, her eyes perpetually glued to her phone. "Thought you'd like a status update." A smile played at her lips.

 

"How is my dear brother?"  
  
"You won't be too happy, I'm sure, but your brother was seen having dinner and then sharing a cab to his flat with Dr. John Watson."

 

"Indeed?"  
  
"Yes. They both entered the flat and are still there."

 

Andrea left as quickly as she had entered and Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his face tiredly and sighed.

 

"I guess that was just the push Dr. Watson needed." He murmured to himself. "They'll be good for each other."

 

\---END INTERLUDE---

 

TWO YEARS LATER

 

"Is my tie straight? How do I look? Do I look okay?" Sherlock glanced nervously in the mirror and brushed a nonexistent speck of lint off the shoulder of his suit. "I need to look good. For John."

 

"You look wonderful, Sherlock!" Molly pulled Sherlock around and adjusted his bow tie. "Stop worrying so much!"  
  
"This is supposed to be an important day, though." Sherlock felt lost at this sort of thing. "The most important day."

 

"It's an important day, but it's not the _most_ important day, silly. The most important will be all the ones that come after."

 

"You're sure I look okay?"

 

"Stunning. John's not going to be able to take his eyes off of you."

 

"What would I do without you, Molly Hooper?"  
  
"Molly Lestrade now, don't forget!" Molly flashed her wedding band at Sherlock. "And you probably would fall apart, boss."

 

Sherlock smiled gently and nodded. "Indeed. Thank you for keeping me together."

 

Molly hugged Sherlock, careful not to wrinkle his suit. "I'm just so happy for you. For us! We've found our place in life, finally."

 

The door creaked open and Mycroft eased into the room, looking uptight and uncomfortable. "Just came up to wish you the best, brother dear."

 

"Not even you can spoil the day, Mycroft. I know you don't approve of John."

 

Mycroft's eyes twinkled -- with what, Sherlock wasn't sure. "I didn't come here to spoil anything, Sherlock. Just to wish you the best."

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Why are you being nice?"

 

"Believe it or not, I actually care a great deal about you."

  
"Since when?"

 

"Oh, Sherlock. Can't we just set aside things for today? I promise, I'll go back to annoying you tomorrow."

 

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, trying to figure him out. But that was a useless endeavor and finally, he settled on sticking his hand out towards his brother. "Deal."

 

Mycroft glanced at his brother's hand, his lips twisting into an unreadable expression. Then he grasped Sherlock's hand and pulled him into a tight embrace that ended just as quickly as it began. "They're all waiting for you downstairs, brother dear. Don't be too long."

 

Sherlock hadn't managed to gather his jaw up off the floor before Mycroft left the room. Then Greg's head popped around the corner. "You two ready?"

 

"I don't think I'm ready, Molly." Sherlock felt the waves of nausea building. "What if I can't do this?"

 

Molly twined her arm around Sherlock's. "You can do this, boss. For the man you love. For the man who saved you. For John."

 

Sherlock inhaled sharply through his nose, then nodded. "Always for John."

 

***

 

Soft piano music wafted through the room. Molly had gone ahead of Sherlock to take her place at the front. Sherlock stepped into the aisle and took in the sea of faces smiling at him. He saw his parents beaming and John's sister, Harry, with her fiancé, Claire -- they would be going to her wedding next. His landlady, Mrs. Hudson, smiled soggily through happy tears and waved her fingers at him. Greg was grinning next to her. Every person he knew was in the room, filling it with more happiness than he knew how to handle. But as Sherlock gazed down the aisle, his eyes fixed on one person. John. Standing proudly at the end of the aisle and beaming at him. His short hair had been slicked back neatly. They both wore grey suits with white shirts and lavender accents. Sherlock tried to tame his curls into something neat, but they still ringed his head like a halo.

 

John beamed at him and nodded. The last two years had been filled with moments. Getting to know each other better. Dinners at Angelo's. Nights at Sherlock's flat. John moving in. Meeting Sherlock's parents; meeting Harry and Claire. Sharing stories. Sharing beds. Molly's wedding. The first fight...and the second. And the third. A shaky bit near the middle where Sherlock was sure he had lost John. But John always came back. No matter how closed off Sherlock became, no matter what harsh words he spoke, John always came back. He was there, his north star, keeping him right.

 

Sherlock walked down the aisle towards John. The ceremony was a blur. All he could see was John's face. Then came the vows. John rested his hand against Sherlock's cheek as he repeated the vows. After, he added his own.

 

"You saved me, Sherlock. Saved my life in every way. I can't wait to spend every day from now on with you. I can't wait to grow old with you. Thank you, love, for showing me that you're all I need, from this day to the last."

 

They kissed their first kiss as a married couple. A new kiss, but one that felt so familiar and right. Around them, their family and friends cheered and clapped, but neither of them paid any attention. Two formerly broken souls joined together, right where they belonged.

 

END


End file.
